


First-Move Advantage

by kokichiouma



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Non-Despair (Dangan Ronpa), Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-29 10:41:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13925463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kokichiouma/pseuds/kokichiouma
Summary: Saihara is roped into joining the chess club, and learns a lot about what it means to strategize and read your opponent.





	First-Move Advantage

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mura_saki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mura_saki/gifts).



> Happy Saiouma Day! This is a gift for @shsl_failure on twitter; they said they wanted a cute high school AU so I hope I was able to deliver! I really, really love getting the chance to write more domestic saiouma fluff, so thank you!

“Maybe you should join a club!”

Cornered in his classroom desk by the window, Saihara stares up at his friend in disbelief, waiting at least three beats to see if she’s joking. Another beat. And another.

Akamatsu Kaede stares back down at him, unblinking. If it’s a joke, she doesn’t laugh. There’s a slight smile on her face, but it’s not of the amused variety. No, he knows that look well—that’s the smile she wears when she’s being firm-but-polite. It’s not a smile that leaves any room for argument.

Still, he tries. “A club? M-Me? Sorry, Akamatsu-san, I just… I don’t think there are any clubs that would suit me.” What he wanted to say was more along the lines of, _I don’t think there are any clubs that would take someone as boring as me_. But he knew if he said it aloud, he’d be wearing her patience thin. She’d already asked him more times than he could count to not make so many self-deprecating comments.

“No way! There are tons of clubs out there; you won’t know what suits you until you try one!”

He backpedals, stumbling for any excuse at this point. “I-I don’t think any clubs are even taking new members by now. It’s pretty late into the new term…”

It doesn’t work. “Again, you won’t know until you try. How about asking if any clubs are accepting new applicants before just shooting down the idea?”

“W-Well, you know, what with homework and all, I’m actually pretty busy, so—”

“ _Saihara-kun._ ” The smile disappears from Akamatsu-san’s face, replaced at once with a stern-and-disapproving frown she usually reserves for last-minute, emergency exam study sessions with the rest of their class. “You’re _not_ busy, you told me yourself. Your uncle’s out of town on some trip for a month, and you’re not part of anything except the ‘Going Home Club.’”

He winces; it’s not as though his lies were very convincing, but he’d still hoped not to be caught so soon. Biting his lip, he looks down at his desk intently, unable to come up with any further excuses for himself.

After a long moment, she sighs. “I feel bad, not being able to hang out with you like we used to. But since I have student council meetings on top of my music club this term…” She trails off. What she fails to mention are all the private piano lessons she has at home, plus cram school in the evenings. She’s a busy, busy person—and a good friend, to have still made as much time for him as she has, despite her jam-packed schedule.

He’s well aware of all of this. He’s aware—but the idea of finding a club to join at this late stage in the game makes his stomach churn. It’s true that as far as he knows, there aren’t really any clubs that he’d be a good fit for. What if he only embarrasses himself by joining one that he isn’t any good at?

Saihara doesn’t say any of this out loud, but it must’ve shown on his face, because Akamatsu-san pats him on the shoulder once, then raises her fists encouragingly. “Come on, Saihara-kun, I’m sure we can find you a club! You’re super smart, I’m sure there’s one out there for you!”

“I-I’m not that smart.” His exam scores were above-average in most classes, but that was about all. They could probably be higher, if it weren’t for the severe anxiety that accompanied them. “And I don’t know about that…”

“Sure you are! You’re like, practically a detective already! There’s gotta be tons of clubs that would be happy to take you, even if it’s a little late!”

He’s by no means a detective either—helping his uncle out once or twice on some of his cases had garnered far too much local press attention for his liking. But he doesn’t think she’ll take no for an answer at this point, so he just makes a noncommittal groan in the back of his throat and resists the urge to lay his head down on his desk, defeated.

* * *

“Promise me you can keep going by yourself?”

Those were her parting words just before she left him to complete his search alone.

They hadn’t had much time to go from club to club together before one of the other student council members had come running up to fetch Akamatsu-san, informing her that the meeting was about to start.

He hadn’t been very sure he could keep going at all, honestly (and he certainly didn’t want to), but if he quit now, he knew she’d only be disappointed to hear about it later. Disappointed and maybe, probably, just a little bit scary.

Well, at least he had an idea of where to start. Sports clubs were out, for obvious reasons (like the fact that he couldn’t keep up, for one). The thought of getting up and performing onstage was unbearable, so music and drama clubs were out, too. That just left a handful of other indoor clubs.

After walking through all the hallways at least three separate times, Saihara finally stops and hesitates outside an unassuming sliding door, hand raised. Nothing marks it as a club room except for the single flyer next to it, on which the words, “Chess club! Meetings Tues., Thurs. afternoons!” are typed neatly.

 _Chess club_... It’s a viable option, if anything. He’s never been particularly great at chess, but he wouldn’t count himself bad at it either—his uncle had given in and taught him the ropes years ago, after he’d wandered into his study enough times and peered curiously at the black-and-white pieces displayed on the set next to his cozy, western armchair.

He thinks it over a few times, still debating on whether he should open the door or not. _If only the flyer were more specific, I could tell what level of players they’re looking for_ , he thinks, looking the flyer over for at least the fifth time.

All in all, it was a shame their school had never had enough interested members to form a literature club. Even he wouldn’t mind joining a club where all you had to do was show up and read books. Even sharing his thoughts on them might not be so bad, as long as the books were interesting enough.

Saihara is still undecided about whether to knock on the door or not, when suddenly, he hears a high-pitched scream from inside the room.

Before he can even register what he’s doing, his legs are already carrying him inside, his heart pounding in his chest as he looks around frantically. He’s not even sure what could possibly cause such a loud scream in a chess club, of all places—maybe someone cut their hand on something? Or maybe some kind of animal got into the classroom?

His thoughts don’t get much farther than that before he spots the apparent source of all the commotion: a short, twin-tailed girl lying face-down on the desk in front of a chess set. Her back is to him as she rocks her chair back and forth, screaming in what seems to be… frustration? Irritation? He can’t tell.

Saihara watches, stunned, as her head suddenly snaps up. He can’t tell what kind of expression she’s making at the boy across from her, but he can imagine it must be equally frustrated.

“Chief!” she says, in a whiny tone that doesn’t betray his expectations of a pout. “That was no fair! You must’ve cheated! You always say you don’t, but there’s no way you didn’t cheat that time!”

“Wow, Akita-chan, that hurts! Do you seriously think _I_ , of all people, would _cheat_? Even after crossing my heart _and_ pinkie-promising, the ultimate double-combo?”

“ _Yes_ , I do! I can’t ever let my guard down with you!”

“Ah. Guess I’m busted.” The boy tips back his chair and puts his hands behind his head. “It was a super close match, though! If I hadn’t cheated, who knows how it would’ve gone!”

The girl pauses, running her fingers absentmindedly through the end of one twintail. “…Does that mean you didn’t cheat? You don’t normally admit to it that easily.” There’s still an audible pout to her voice.

“Who can say?” asks the boy, and the smug nonchalance in his voice gives away nothing. “More importantly, though… I wonder what our unexpected guest wants from us?”

Saihara reddens as all eyes in the room suddenly turn to look at him, none more annoyingly intense or insistent than the stare of the boy sitting across the desk. If the embarrassment weren’t literally pinning him to the spot, he’s pretty sure he would fumble for the door behind him and make a run for it.

The other boy still doesn’t look away. His gaze is unwavering and fixed, and there’s a slight trace of a smirk playing around the corners of his mouth. Perhaps this is a chess club, but that expression is a picture-perfect poker face.

After a few long, seemingly unending seconds, Saihara remembers what he came here for. He swallows hard, already regretting that he didn’t go and knock on some other club’s door. But it’s worth a try. He promised Akamatsu-san that much—and he doesn’t have many other choices if he doesn’t ask this one, at least.

“I-I wanted—” The words feel almost stuck in his throat; he feels like he has to physically push them out. “I wanted to… join this club. I-If that’s alright.”

He’s not sure who to talk to, so he bows his head in the general direction of all of them. The girl with twintails had called the other boy “Chief,” but Saihara isn’t actually sure if that means he’s the club president or not. While he’s sitting down, his height is difficult to gauge, but his round cheeks and wide-eyed stare give off the impression of a first-year.

Nonetheless, he’s the first one to answer. “A new member, hmm?” His tone is light, but Saihara is almost sure he saw the smirk tug at the corner of his mouth a little further. “It’s a little late to come sign up, don’t you think? We don’t take new members anymore—”

Saihara bows his head again, grateful for any reason to cut the conversation short. “Sorry, I wasted your time. I’ll go then.”

“ _Hey_!”

Before he can leave, the other boy springs out of his seat and points a finger authoritatively. It _should_ be unimpressive (just like he suspected, he’s not tall by any means), like a kid playing pretend, trying to act much more intimidating than they actually are. But it’s so sudden, and the gesture is so absolutely, absurdly _confident_ , Saihara is startled into standing still.

“Let me finish before you just go running off, silly.” The other boy approaches him slowly, finger still outstretched as he looks him in the eye, his expression dead-serious. Then, without warning, he flicks his nose lightly.

“Ow!”

The other boy ignores him. “Now, as I was saying… We don’t accept new members, without giving them a trial run first.”

“A… trial run?”

“You know, a test! You gotta pass a test first, or else it’d be _way_ too boring!”

“Oh.” His stomach falls. He’d thought it might be something like that, but it doesn’t make the news any easier to take. This was exactly the kind of humiliation he’d been afraid of getting himself into.

“You gotta impress me, first, or else we won’t let you in! Right guys? Hey, are there any objections?”

The other members voice their agreement near simultaneously, almost all of them looking highly amused. In fact, the only one who seems rather skeptical of this whole arrangement is the same girl from before.

She hops up from her chair too, swinging one arm into the air and waving it back and forth, a parody of answering a question in class. “I have one—but it’s not about _him_.” She narrows her eyes. “How do we know you’re not gonna cheat, Chief? It’s one thing if he’s not up to snuff, but it’s not fair if you’re just gonna play dirty and scare him off, regardless.”

The short boy tilts his head to the side curiously, as though he hadn’t even considered the possibility of cheating beforehand. After thinking it over for only a few seconds, the other boy nods enthusiastically. “Hmm, I see your point! Okay, this match will be fair and square—promise! Cross my heart and, uh, something-something.” For added dramatic effect, he actually crosses his index finger over his heart.

Saihara can’t help but suspect that’s nothing but a dirty, dirty lie, of course. But embarrassed or not, he resolves himself to his fate, and silently vows to at least not go down without a fight.

* * *

It’s the fastest match of chess he’s ever lost.

He stares at the chessboard, at a complete loss for words, while the boy across from him tips his chair back and puts his hands behind his head in what’s becoming an increasingly familiar, cocky gesture.

He didn’t cheat. The other boy _didn’t_ cheat. He was sure of it.

Just as an added measure of politeness, Saihara was even offered the option to pick whichever color he felt like playing as—and in an unusually bold stance, he’d chosen white. It wasn’t like the other boy had ever played against him before. He should’ve had no way of knowing his moves in advance, and going first in theory should’ve offered him some advantage, however small.

But almost from the beginning of the game, it had been an unmitigated disaster. Despite his first-move advantage, it felt like he was trying to catch up to his opponent, not the other way around. Every move he made was countered in an instant, until he was forced onto the defensive.

The only minor victory (if it could be called that) that he’d managed was when he successfully took one of the other boy’s bishops with a pawn. But his success was short-lived; one of the knights protecting the king got snatched off the board by the other boy’s queen not long after that, and the whole match had played out to its inevitable conclusion in only a matter of minutes.

He tugs his hat down over his eyes as far as it will go, wishing he could just slide under the desk and keep going until he was completely out of sight or mind. He’s not a bad player, he knows that much. But his opponent had just been on a completely different level.

…Which is why when the other boy, still wobbling his chair precariously on two legs, says, “Okay! You pass!” he’s sure he must be hearing things.

Startled, he looks up. “B-But I lost.” He hadn’t just lost, he’d been _demolished_. “I lost r-really quickly.”

“I never said you could only join if you beat me. I said I’d let you join if you managed to surprise me. And you were just full of surprises—at first I thought you were just winging it, but you really do know how to strategize when your back’s against the wall, don’t you? …Ah, but I’ll need something to call you if we’re going to be fellow club members!”

Saihara just stares.

“You know, customarily this would be where you’d give me your name unless you want me to come up with some embarrassing nickname for you on the spot…?”

He feels his face flush. “S-Saihara. Saihara Shuuichi.”

“Hmm, Saihara-chan, is it? Nishishi. I guess it’s only fair if I give you my name in return. You can call me Ouma Kokichi.”

With a name like that, Saihara can see why he took an interest in chess. Or maybe it was the other way around. Maybe he’d become some kind of a master chess player first, and the name was merely a pseudonym.

Not that most ordinary high schoolers would be going by pseudonyms, but then, absolutely nothing about this strange, mysterious boy seemed normal.

“Well, I look forward to playing more matches against you, Saihara-chan! Oh, and one more thing—” He lets the front two legs of his chair hit the ground suddenly, and before Saihara can even register what’s happening, Ouma-kun snatches the hat right off his head, waving it tauntingly in one hand. “As club president, I’ve got this little rule against wearing hats in the club room. Try looking your opponent in the eyes next time you play, okay?”

Saihara isn’t so sure he’d like to play any other matches—not against this boy or any of the other members. But by this point, he’s pretty sure he doesn’t have much of a choice.

* * *

It turns out not to be so bad. Ouma-kun is still as much of a mystery to him as ever; in the club room, at least, it’s as though everything is the other boy’s own little personal kingdom, complete with loyal subjects.

Gradually, though, Saihara overcomes his nerves as he realizes most of this is just play-acting. At the very least, the meetings themselves, and the chess matches, aren’t nearly as bad as he feared.

Namely… because they’re a lot more fun than he’d expected.

“Haha, Saihara! I win again!” Akita-san pushes her knight into place and topples his king over with her fingers for dramatic effect.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, though in truth, it had been a pretty good match. It wasn’t just Ouma-kun who could end a match within a matter of minutes, as he had discovered within his first few meetings. But he was starting to see that just because he still lost often didn’t mean his endeavors were pointless. He was learning a few moves just by studying the rest of them.

As though reading his mind, Ouma-kun pops up from behind him, resting his chin on his shoulder. “He had you on the ropes for a moment though, didn’t he Akita-chan? You almost lost your cool at one point!”

She sticks her tongue out, uninterested, then stretches both arms across the desk and giggles, looking the very picture of some lazy cat. “Only because I didn’t expect him to sacrifice his queen so early into the match. That crazy strategy sounds more like something I’d have expected from you, Chief.”

“Ehhh? No way, I’d never do something so suicidal! Strategies that crazy are amateur hour only!”

Saihara moves his shoulder and turns around in his seat, forcing the other boy to quit using him as a headrest. “You used that same strategy when we played each other on Tuesday,” he says matter-of-factly.

“Oh, did I?” Ouma-kun taps his index finger against the corner of his mouth as though lost in thought. “I forgot all about that.”

“Sure you did.”

The other boy gives him that usual, distinctive laugh of his, looking completely unrepentant. “Well, I think it’s true that no one ever thought you would try a move that risky yourself. Wow, Saihara-chan, how bold! How unexpectedly daring! I think I might swoon!”

Saihara can feel his cheeks burn, so he turns his attention back to the chess set. “Akita-san, would you like to play another match? Best two out of three?”

“Suuure,” she drawls, and sets about helping him line the pieces back up.

Ouma-kun protests loudly from behind him. “What? No fair, no fair! Come on Saihara-chan, we haven’t had our match yet for today’s meeting! You already played with Akita-chan, it’s my turn now!”

As Saihara rearranges the chess amidst all the noise and bustle in the lively club room, he has to admit that Akamatsu-san was certainly right when she said this would give him something to do. Even if he’s still getting dragged along at everyone else’s pace, it’s hard to feel so self-conscious in a club primarily dedicated to goofing off.

* * *

Three weeks later, there’s a letter in his shoe box when he arrives at school in the morning.

At first, he almost assumes the worst. After all, there are really only two kinds of letters someone would slip into a shoe box, and his instincts say harassment and bullying are the much more likely option.

But there are no thumbtacks in the box, no pieces of garbage strewn about anywhere near his belongings. The handwriting on the letter is scrawled, tiny and cramped, but it doesn’t seem to be insulting, from what he can tell at a glance. Taking all of this into account, harassment seems unlikely.

He clutches the letter in his shaky hands, staring down at it blankly. That just leaves the other possibility then. But who? Who would send him a—well, even thinking the phrase “love letter” to himself sounds embarrassing beyond words.

Taking a deep breath, he smoothes the letter out and reads it, heart pounding in his throat.

There are only two sentences: _I’d like to get to know you better. Please keep an eye out for me._

That’s all. No sender, no dedication, no cheesy words of confession or pining. In fact, the contents are so infuriatingly vague that he’s not entirely sure the letter _was_ meant for him, after all. It’s possible someone could’ve just gotten the wrong shoe box, isn’t it?

What did that even mean, anyway? Was the sender trying to tell him that they were going to confess in person? But the letter didn’t mention anything about where they might confess to him, or when.

He reads the letter a few more times over, searching for any possible clues that might tell him more, but there’s nothing. The handwriting doesn’t look familiar, and without more to go on, there’s nothing he can do.

With a heavy (yet strangely light) heart, he decides to keep the letter in his pocket and see what more he can find out from now on. And just like the sender advised him, he decides to keep an eye out too.

* * *

His worries about whether the letter was actually meant for him or not are put to rest, because come next week, there’s another letter sitting in his shoe box when he gets to school.

This one is even more infuriatingly cryptic and shorter than the first: _Have you been looking for me hard enough?_

Saihara bites his lip, wondering how on earth he’s supposed to find a sender who won’t even tell him anything about themselves. How many suspects could there possibly be, anyway? He’s not sure there’s anyone who he could consider “potentially interested” in someone like him. And even if there were, he wouldn’t be the best person at recognizing it. After all, this is all extremely new to him—and this type of confession seems unconventional, to say the least.

For a moment, the thought of Akamatsu-san flashes hopefully through his mind. It’s true that they can only really spend time together during or between classes these days, but maybe this was her way of leaving a message for him after school?

Almost as soon as he considers it though, he reluctantly dismisses the possibility. He and Akamatsu-san have been friends since childhood; there’d be no reason for her to say she wanted to get to know him better. And in any case, leaving an indecipherable note didn’t seem to be her style. She was always direct, to-the-point, and cheerfully enthusiastic in her endeavors.

Other than her though, he really can’t think of any other possibilities. There are plenty of friends he knows, but no one who he’d suspect of doing something like this.

An idea suddenly occurs to him, and his stomach twists unpleasantly. What if this was all some kind of joke? Nowhere in either letter did the sender explicitly say they actually liked him. Maybe there didn’t need to be thumbtacks or garbage for it to still be some kind of cruel prank.

If that turns out to be the case… If it does, he’s not so sure the more straightforward harassment wouldn’t have hurt less.

* * *

“Saihara-chan! Earth to Saihara-chan!”

The sudden sound of Ouma-kun’s voice jerks him back to reality, and he leans back in his seat as he suddenly becomes aware of the other boy’s hand waving in front of his face.

“S-Sorry,” he says. “Sorry, what?”

“ _Checkmate_. I said checkmate like five times already! Where’ve you been?”

“Oh… okay.”

“…Saihara-chan.”

“Hmm?”

“What’s it like where you live? Is it nice? Send me a postcard, won’t you?”

Saihara shakes his head again. “Sorry… What?”

Ouma-kun huffs and moves to take his king, then apparently thinks better of it and just drums the fingers of one hand along the desk instead. “Sheesh, this is boring. It’s no fun if your heart’s not in it.” He looks uncharacteristically serious for once, the corners of his mouth tugging downward, rather than up.

He’s about to apologize to the other boy again, but he thinks it might just make him even angrier. Instead, he opts to mention as much of the truth as he can manage. “I’m… I’m just a little distracted, lately. I didn’t mean to be so unresponsive.” He looks out the window, and the low-hanging clouds outside match his mood.

Ouma-kun looks up, although the frown still doesn’t leave his face. “If you’re distracted, there must be something else on your mind, huh?”

“I guess so… yeah. I’ve just been worried about something kind of personal, that’s all. I’ll probably stop worrying so much about it soon. Actually… yeah, I’ll definitely put it out of my mind soon. So I’ll play a lot better at our next meeting.”

He expected more questions—maybe even some teasing, but much to his surprise, the other boy just looks away and stares out the window, too. None of the other club members come to interrupt their unfinished, unending match, and Ouma-kun still doesn’t take his king even when the bell rings to dismiss club activities.

* * *

Saihara isn’t too far from the school when the dam breaks and the ominous clouds above suddenly let loose a torrential downpour.

Ordinarily, he’d have been further away, closer to the bus stop and therefore to his house, but he’d been dragging his feet along at a snail’s pace, his thoughts still tending to the letters tucked away in his pocket. It’s as he stands there, suddenly soaked through to the bone, that he realizes he forgot his umbrella back in the club room.

If he were already at the bus stop, he’d consider just leaving it there. There wouldn’t be any point in making such a long trip back when he was already halfway home. But as it is, he’s got a long way to go before the bus stop is anywhere in sight, and if he doesn’t have some kind of cover over his head, he’s probably going to catch an early-summer cold.

The rain doesn’t show any signs of letting up. It’s now or never. Sighing, he holds his bag over his head and bolts all the way back to the school building, dashing into the entryway as soon as he reaches it.

It’s as he turns and rests his back against the door, struggling to catch his breath, that he realizes someone is standing in front of the shoe lockers. _His_ shoe locker, to be more precise.

“…Ouma-kun?” he says, his voice full of audible disbelief.

The other boy looks more shocked than he’s ever seen him before, blank-faced and frozen in place like a deer caught in headlights. Actually, it’s such an unfamiliar expression on him that he almost wouldn’t recognize him if he hadn’t just seen him earlier that afternoon. It looks absolutely nothing like the Ouma-kun he’s familiar with, always grinning or pouting or smirking deviously.

Even though logically, his brain knows where this is heading, he still doesn’t put the pieces together until he sees a slip of paper clutched tightly in the other boy’s hand, identical to the (now soggy) letters in his pocket.

“It was you…? You sent me those letters?” The words come from him slowly; he feels like the gears of his brain aren’t quite turning the way he wants them to.

Ouma-kun doesn’t say anything at all.

“B-But… why?”

Again, no response.

Saihara remembers his latest theory and swallows hard, his mouth tasting suddenly sour. He had thought Ouma-kun was strange, mischievous—self-centered, even. But he hadn’t thought he’d actually go so far as to pull a stunt like this. He’d never seemed _cruel_ , before.

Maybe he wasn’t, actually. But in that case… why wasn’t he saying anything?

Slowly, Ouma-kun’s fist tightens around the letter in his hand, crumpling it up. He looks smaller, somehow. Despite his short height, he always managed to look imposing when they were having club. But right now he looks so blank and taken aback, almost uncertain.

Perhaps away from chess club and all the comforts and friends that it offered, Ouma Kokichi was not much braver or more talkative than he was.

The other boy takes a step to the side. Then another. Saihara is familiar enough with the process to recognize an attempt at running away when he sees one.

“Wait!” he says, before he can stop himself.

Much to his surprise (and Ouma-kun’s too, judging by the look on his face), this actually succeeds at getting the other boy to stop.

They look at each other without saying anything for a few moments, the only noise the sound of the rain hitting the awning of the entryway to the school building. As late as it is, it’s still nowhere near time for the sun to set just yet, but the rain makes the hallways so much darker than usual, casting unfamiliar shadows everywhere.

Finally, Saihara raises a shaky hand and points at the letter in the other boy’s hand. “That’s… not a prank is it? These letters you’ve been leaving weren’t just some kind of joke to make me feel bad, were they?”

He was expecting more silence, but that question provokes a response, surprisingly enough. Ouma-kun narrows his eyes and clenches his fist a little tighter. “Gee, Saihara-chan, what do _you_ think?”

That’s a good question. What _does_ he think? He’s still not sure, despite how much he’s wracked his brain over the issue. And this turn of events was so unexpected that he’s really not sure what to make of it.

He thinks again, about his first reaction when he saw Ouma-kun by his shoe box. …He really didn’t seem like a cruel person. Even if he liked to play pranks or mess around, Saihara had seen firsthand the way he supported each and every club member, always pushing them (him) forward. Always leaving them (him) clues about how to play better, strategize better, have more fun.

“…I don’t think you’d do something like that,” he says finally, his voice very quiet even to his own ears.

Ouma-kun blinks, still looking wary.

“These were all… love letters, right?”

Slowly, stiffly, the other boy nods.

Saihara feels a sudden wash of embarrassment that warms him from the inside out, despite how cold the rain left him. _I’d like to get to know you better,_ the first letter had said. If those words were true, then… all this time… and all those chess matches…

In the obscure lighting by the rainy entryway, he’s pretty sure he can almost see a faint tinge of pink on the other boy’s face to match his own.

He approaches Ouma-kun, one hand outstretched, and breathes out a shaky sigh of relief when the other boy lets him hold his hand gently. “I’d like to get to know you better too,” he tells him, face burning. “But Ouma-kun, could I ask just one favor?”

“I’ll think about it,” says the other boy. But even though his tone is noncommittal, Saihara can still see the tips of his ears turning red.

“I’m happy and all—really, really happy, actually. But next time… could we keep the games and cryptic comments limited to chess?”

“…I’ll think about it,” Ouma-kun says again, but his mouth twists decidedly upward as he squeezes his hand.


End file.
